It's my Duty, and my Punishment
by Angels-and-Heroes
Summary: For what he's done to Heaven and to the angels, perhaps Castiel... must face the wrath of God himself, and do it alone.


The angel took several steps through the room, running his fingers along the top of the fireplace, feeling for the dust and spider webs, but it was all clean, and there was nothing Castiel's fingertips came back with, except empty promises. Dean would be back any second, and he had to tell him something. He wiped his fingers along the corner of his trench coat, softly smirking to himself, yet that faded rather quickly as he dropped to the couch across from the television. He eyed the emptiness of the house for a little bit, wondering why it didn't feel like home to him here.

He knew the curtains, he knew what the brothers would come home and reach into the fridge for. He knew that Dean would swear if there was no pie left, and Sam would just smile, shake his head, and try to fix something up, which would calm Dean right down. There would be excessive amounts of burgers for the angel, as well as milkshakes, for since Dean shared that strawberry one at the café, the angel had been all over those two products, so much so that it concerned the Winchesters as to why he wasn't gaining any weight.

A click of a car alarm was heard, and Castiel jolted from where he was sitting, sitting straighter than he thought he was presently, and fingers strangling the couch cushions before he shot upwards, nearly flinging off his trench coat as he stood facing the door. When Dean opened the door, grunting because he was carrying groceries, back struggling to push open the wooden object, Castiel stood there and watched him with a tilted head. A grunt was heard from the Winchester. Blinking, Dean's alert face turned to that of annoyance, his eyebrows furrowing slightly.

"My guardian angel, thank you so much for helping me in this struggle in opening the door," Dean set down the paper bags, groaning as if he were about to drop all that weight on the floor. Blinking, Castiel walked over to the table as Dean began digging into the bag, stacking the contents out onto the table, before he were to put them in the cabinets where they belonged. Was now the best time to say something? He couldn't—Castiel bit his tongue, the silence almost suffocating him from the inside until Dean looked in his direction whilst working on the next bag.

"Something I can help you with there, sport?" Dean smiled slightly, grabbing the warm box of chicken strips, opening it and tearing into it before he could speak any longer. He offered the box to Cas, who shook his head, and watched the other drop it to the table. Throwing his arms out to the side, Dean expressed complete and utter confusion. Castiel wasn't talking, wasn't smiling, and wasn't… being Castiel. "Talk to me, Cas. What's the matter? Is this twenty questions, do you want a hug? What."

When the angel turned and walked around the couch and toward the table where the laptop lay, Dean grew only more frustrated and, running a hand through his hair, followed the angel. Castiel was avoiding the question, and even avoiding eye contact. Castiel was always reprimanded for staring into Dean's eyes, so maybe this was Castiel finally getting around to understanding the meaning of 'It's rude to stare.'

Now he turned his head, from looking down at the carpeted flooring, and straight at Dean. His eyes expressed great confliction, inner struggle, and inner… damnation. Dean's eyebrows went up, and his eyes softened. This wasn't just any avoidance on Castiel's part to Dean, he _really_ couldn't bring himself to say whatever he had to say to Dean. Swallowing, Dean pressed his knuckles against the table beside the laptop, and his eyes gazed down at the mahogany for a little bit. He nodded, which meant it was okay for Castiel to go ahead and start speaking. The silence was torture, like being strapped to barbwire and suspended above fire in a room of death, with nothing to hear but the beat of your heart and the blood pulsating through your veins. Hell was literally negative six decibels of silence, and it drove Dean insane.

"Recollect the moment you told me to go back to Heaven?" Castiel pressed his own knuckles beside Dean's, and they turned to look at each other, as if reading each other's minds. "And recollect the words I said when you thought it was a good idea?"

Dean's eyebrows went and cringed together. "I vaguely remember you getting hella pissed when I told you it was a good idea. I mean, you know I hate those flying monkeys as much as you do—did." He wasn't sure Castiel's feelings now. "But what are you talking about? That was – I don't know… two months ago."

Their eyes met and for a second, Dean was lost in those cerulean eyes. What were they showing? Feeling as if he had to sink in closer to see the orbs' true feelings, Dean shifted to press all his weight on one foot and watched them. They weren't dark, they weren't… glowing at all, but they were blue, just a weak blue.

"Cas—"

"If I go back there, Dean, I don't think I could face what I would see," Castiel whispered and Dean's lips pulled down and he nodded.

"I get it, that's a lot of shit to take in, especially for something holy as Heaven, y'know?" Dean smiled slightly. Only when Castiel looked at him did that smile alter to a frown. Now he was on board. "Wait… what are you implying here, Cas?"

"I cannot face what my wrath caused, but I want to talk to my Father."

The hunter's face distorted. "Wait, what—"

"Alone."

"Hold on a second!" Dean held a hand up to Castiel, as if halting him from drawing closer when he threatened. "Don't you think that's a little hectic!?"

"I have to be punished for my actions, Dean," the angel swallowed, blinking through that, even if it was enough to cut through muscle.

"Wait a damn second, will ya? Let me process what in the Hell you're talking about here!" Dean paced around the couch, chewing on his fingernail a little bit, glaring down at the floor, shoulders brooding and pensive—thinking about that made him smile only a little, but he went straight back and frowned. He came back to Castiel, who was patiently gazing down at the laptop, and watching Dean. There was just too much silence between the two, and it burned them both in their stomachs, like acid. When he came back, Castiel waited for a response. "Are you saying… that you're going to face _God_?" Dean pierced his jaw together, baring his teeth, keeping the urge to scream and shout deep in his throat.

"That's what I said, yes." Castiel nodded.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa, Cas, okay!? No. When you're here, with us, you don't go off alone, okay? That's a big no-no in the Winchester family business book, okay? We follow that just as religiously as you do the Bible, okay?"

"You said 'okay' four times in the span of two minutes," Castiel pointed out, "your vocabulary is disintegrating." Groaning loudly, Dean threw his hands up in the air and tore at the strands blocking his vision, even if they were too small to be seen. This was not okay.

"You listen to me, Mr. Holy-Messenger-of-God," Dean poked a finger in the angel's general direction, and almost swore when it almost touched his nose. "Family doesn't start by blood, and that includes the Winchester family!" He apparently was working hard to rephrase his words so that they didn't need 'okay' placed after them all the time. "When you pulled me out Purgatory, and even if it took a long time before we trusted you, we did."

There was nothing coming out of the angel's mouth now.

"When Bobby died, you were right there, Cas, and with Jo and Meg and—"Castiel's eyes flickered to Dean and he paused, swallowing, but his eyes stayed aggressive. "With Sam gone now too, man… I got nothing. Okay? My father, my mother, where are they? Dead… forgotten? Don't even know who the hell I am, now?" He chuckled, but it was out of pain. His arms went up. "You're all I have left, Cas."

"Dean… the wrath of God is summoning me." The angel fought back. "I have to answer the call of my Father."

"He'll rip you apart, Cas!"

"That is my punishment."

"Goddammit!" Dean threw a fit, slamming his fist down onto the table. "None of you angels get it, do you!? It's always His right and His way, and it's like you guys have _no_ mental capacity of your own. Like you're slaves to him, and if you need to be punished so be it."

"Murdering my own kind in an act of genocide, because I was consumed by power doesn't cover the fact that many seraphim are now dead, by my own hand."

"Do you really think you would've done that if you weren't consumed by yours Holy—"

"Don't do that, Dean."

"You were possessed by Leviathans, and you practically _ate_ your God—"

"Dean, I said stop."

"So, where is your punishment, there Cas?" His eyebrows went up. "Tell me." That's when the angel came up to him, charging almost, angrily and irritated, but then he paused, and he was inches from Dean's face now, eyebrows furrowed and eyes blaring with blue fire. It was said that blue fire was indeed hotter than red and orange fire.

"What I've done needs to be judged by my Father himself, and he can reverse his creations, for he has that power."

Dean's head shake grew solid and slow, his eyes growing all the more livid in the pupils. Then he suddenly relaxed, and looked down. "You've been to Purgatory Cas, _I've _been to Purgatory. You told me you were planning to stay there forever, never to come out. _That's_ your punishment, you don't need God's final judgment, do you hear me?!"

A heavy inhale and exhale came out of the angel's shut throat and his eyes ceased their smolder before looking out the window.

"Cas—"Two blue eyes flickered toward Dean as his voice came again. "I prayed for you Cas, _every night_ while I was there. Not to _God_, not to Michael, but to you. There's a difference between you and God. ONE you can believe in one-hundred percent, no matter what, every time. Whether you're stuck in deep ass shit that requires spiritual guidance, or just in general. The other, however…" He could've laughed at this, and his shoulders shrugged. "…You never know when to believe or not believe in him, because when one thing turns out nice, a buttload of random crap turns it bad."

"Dean… if I go alone—"

"I don't want to hear it, Castiel."

The angel noticeably jolted forward, heaving out in shock. He'd never used his full name before. The expression on his face was equally a hint of confusion and pain, like his heart was thumping too hard, irregularly and unhealthy deep in his chest, and no matter how hard he clawed at it to get it to cease, the thumps would grow all the more present and painful.

"You're all I got, Cas." Dean's breathing was that of someone endeavoring to keep composure, keep the tears from falling. "Don't you leave me, too."

"Dean, God chose me to be a messenger for him, and after what I did—"

"Which wasn't entirely all you—"

"I have to do this."

"You're being an idiot."

"I'm doing what's. Right."

"Dammit, Cas!" Dean slammed his fists down onto the table and slumped almost to his knees, but he propped himself up enough to keep his knees off the ground. "You're just like Sam. Always trying to do what's right, and then it somehow all turns to utter crap and we got to reverse it yet again! Y'know, I wonder… when you were in Purgatory, did you ever think about how to atone for your sins? Maybe… do a damn confession in a church with a pastor or something!?" He went to look up but he couldn't look Castiel in the eyes this time, not this damn time. No. "After I found out that Sam had been in Purgatory, and that you'd been in Purgatory, and that Bobby died… I tried my damn hardest to keep this family together, keep this family sane. I watched that house burn in flames, I heard the wails of my mother as she hung from the ceiling, and I saw the nightmare in Sam's eyes when Jess succumbed to the same thing. You're an angel, Cas. You can't feel pain, but I can tell you this… you're a part of this family, and I'll be damned if I lose you again."

He turned to give Castiel more of it.

"And let me tell you that I love—Cas?" His finger dropped, for there was nothing standing there behind him. There was no angel, no trench coat hung over broad shoulders. "Cas!?" He looked left and he looked right, and he leapt over the couch and raced to the kitchen. "Castiel! CAS!?" He opened the back door and then slammed it, sprinting toward the front and over to the Impala. There was nothing. "CASTIEL NOVAK!?"

The Winchester raced to the Impala, opened the front car seat and peered inside, and there on the seat, was a note. It was folder so perfectly, the crease, the edges and the square all folded professionally, like a postcard. Was it Castiel?

Taking the lemon-colored paper off the seat, Dean opened it, bending it so that it wouldn't flip shut again. He looked at the note and read it aloud. It was a Bible verse:

"_Proverbs 18:24…_

_There are "friends" who destroy each other, but a real friend…sticks closer than a brother."_ There was silence again, as Dean rolled the paper shut. His hands convulsed against the paper until he crumpled it up and threw it, watching it hit the closed passenger seat window and bounce to the seat. His lower lip quivered, and his eyes began to cloud over, translucently glossy with heartbroken tears.

"Cas… you betraying son of a bitch… you deserve to rot in Hell… with me at your side." And the Impala door shut tightly. He took the back of his hand and wiped at his eye, rolling his eyes as he flipped up the collar of his jacket. There was something fucking blowing through the wind, and it just happened to stick in his eyes.

Going back into the house, Dean expected Castiel to be sitting there on the couch, and have Sam typing furiously away at his laptop, yet… his heart dropped as he came to an empty room. The hand squishing the knob completely clenched against it and then released, and the Winchester stumbled to sit on the chair across from the couch. He looked down at the coffee table and groaned… for there was another note.

"Why couldn't you just come talk to me?" Dean swore, shaking his head as he grabbed the note angrily and opened it. "Oh look… another verse. Wonder what it says this time." He rolled his eyes and read it, aloud.

"_Psalm 91:11…_

_For he will command his angels concerning you to guard you in all your ways." _The hands that held this note began to tremble even more, and the shoulders of those hands quivered and the owner of those shoulders began to sob. He crushed the sides of the note in between his fingers before dropping it to the carpeted flooring before. Castiel was the last one there for him, the one who let him go and leave him in Purgatory, for who knows how long. He gripped him tight and rose him from Perdition, but Castiel wasn't there for the perdition that crushed Dean's soul all the more presently now.

There was no baby brother.

There was no other father.

There was no mother.

No actual father.

No guardian angel to guard him in his ways, as he fought alone. Through to the apocalypse, and back again. There was nobody to shoot the colt with Dean, to sit in the passenger seat of the Impala. There was no more…

Family.

Bending down close to the ground, Dean huffed out a sob and put his face in his hands. Now Dean Winchester, son of John and Mary Winchester, brother of Samuel Winchester… was alone. He knew that at times like this, when he was little, his mother would gather him in her arms, curl her body around his and rock him gently in the rocking chair, and even if he was too young to recollect that, he could feel those arms circle around his shoulders now, and a voice whisper:

"_It's okay my son… Mommy's here to take care of you."_

And now… Dean Winchester… just sobbed.

* * *

**A/N: **Yes, this is my FIRST fanfiction here, and for this fandom.

I've actually written many but they were deleted - I do hope you enjoyed this, and you're not angry that it was portrayed terribly, or what have you.

If you want to review, you are free to do so -

Hopefully I will have more up eventually in the later dates.


End file.
